


Missing Marco

by apkidd



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Cuties, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:15:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apkidd/pseuds/apkidd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean works at a mundane office, spending everyday in the same routine. Marco has been gone a year today but Jean still misses him as though it were only yesterday. But today, all that changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Marco

Life was something that escaped Jean. He was certain that how he was living now wasn't really living. It was coping, surviving. He didn't go a single morning without a moan or a sigh. He had always been a bitter, self centred person but when Marco came along he changed. Of course he was always the same old Jean but Marco made him want to be better. It was as though Marco brought the light into his life and illuminated everything good in the world. But in the past he had felt himself slipping. Forgetting, when he knew he couldn't. He had to hold onto hope, and hold onto Marco.

Marco had been gone a year today, and finally Jean didn't feel so dreary when he got out of bed. The light rain on his face barely touched him as he walked fast to the train station. One hand in his pocket, the other clutching his brief case, headphones in ears. All he had to do was make it until five o'clock. And then finally, things would change.

Missing Marco felt like losing a lung. Somehow ever since his departure the air was thicker and Jean found sometimes he would wake from nightmares of gunfire and eventually the sweats would stop but his breathing never eased.

The only thought that kept him strong, sane and continuing was Marco. The thoughts of him plagued and graced his mind. At home, wherever he looked something would remind him of the days of life in colour; everything was shades of grey now. He would see him in the bedroom, pulling on jeans or sitting on the bed, engulfed in darkness all for the glaring light of the laptop on his face. He would see him at the kitchen table eating cereal even though they had just had dinner. He watched him in the shower as he wrote “I LOVE YOU” or “HORSE FACE” on the condensation of the glass as Jean brushed his teeth.

It wasn't was though Jean was alone. He had friends that missed Marco too and wanted him home and alive. But it wasn't the same for them as it was for Jean. They didn't rely on him for their strength. Marco was the strongest person he had ever known in every way a person can be. Jean had soon come to realise that the large and toned arms that held him were barely his amour. That Marco had strength that could force a natural disaster. And that it was probably forged by the constant hope against the odds that Jean could always see in his eyes.

Everyday Jean would take the train, ride the elevator, sit at his desk. Constantly surrounded by the bleak faces of strangers, and imagined just what Marco would say, had he been there. Probably some funny remark about how miserable they all looked that would make Jean laugh.

Jean remembered how Connie had set the pair of them up. The sound of a tall, bold soldier that Connie was good friends with on the force and that Sasha raved so much about, of course peaked Jean's interest. But blind dates weren't really his thing and what if he was some bulky guy with a Connie like buzz-cut? He got himself so worked up with nerves he almost didn't go. But the way they had described this kind-hearted man made Jean feel too guilty at the thought of standing him up.

At the risk of sounding cliché; they had chemistry, they clicked. And Jean knew he was the one when those sparks at the beginning never seemed to go out. What they had never got boring, like a song you play on repeat until you’re sick of it. What they had was that track that no matter what mood you’re in, when it comes on shuffle, you’ll never skip it. Because it's no longer simple entertainment for the moments in between living, it gives you life itself.

That was what Marco was to Jean: be became his life. And living without him seemed like such a feat now. Jean was tired.

He tapped his keyboard and watched the clock. Sent emails and thought of Marco. Photocopied documents and watched the clocked. Chewed on his pen lid and thought of Marco.

He checked his text messages, letting himself stare too long at the picture of him and Marco that was his screen saver. The face of a boy that made him want to write horrendously flowery poetry. He would make lists on post-it notes of things he needed to do and find himself listing what he loved about Marco. Everyday it would grow longer with absence. He loved the way his freckles spread over the pigments of his soft, delicate skin. Jean loved the way he had traced them over his face and played dot to dot with them on his back, from one to another as Marco slept.

Jean loved the way Marco would sing in the shower or in the car without a care. Jean missed the noise. He loved the way Marco would kiss him out of no where. As though his lips were out of his control. Jean would be talking away and Marco would kiss him mid sentence. He loved the way he said Jean. The way he would emphasise the -ah sound, knowing it drove Jean crazy. Jean would get him back with quiet whispers of French against his flesh. He would have Marco reeling and gasping at Jean's kisses. He loved the way Marco ran his hands through his hair and how absent-minded he was to how it made Jean want him.

When Marco first left Jean felt dreary. He wore his clothes. He wanted to smell his skin and feel the fabric. As though that could even begin to made up for the lack. He sat in the quiet, just figuring out how to breathe. Just figuring out how to be. Hearing his own heart beat in the silence, alone at night and imagining it was footsteps. Marco on the stairs, coming back, coming to bed.

Their place felt dark and no longer homely. It became a cave system and Jean was the lone spelunker. He was losing his sense of direction, Marco was his compass, his guide. He felt claustrophobic and cold. His feet felt heavy as though he was wading through water carrying the weight of life alone on his back.

Jean hated going anywhere without him these days. Marco was always the life of the party. Jean just liked people watching as Marco came into contact with everyone. His magnetic and altruistic air, making them smile or laugh or buy a round of drinks. He would hold them captivated with hilarious and shameless stories of his youth. And somehow without protest, he'd always get Jean dancing.

Every memory is what Jean clutched onto like a safety rope, like a life raft. And Jean so badly just wanted to dance with his Marco. Until the world fell away and it was just them and oblivion.

The pair of them had been a team. For so long they had faced disapproval in the eyes of everyone else. People telling them it wouldn't last, that it was a pipe-dream. But whenever Jean thought about letting these people get to him, Marco would always be there. To assure him that people always feared what they didn't understand but it didn't matter because it wasn't their life. Jean and Marco had something courageous and pure and maybe they would soar or sink, but at least if they did it would be together. No one else got to tell them how to live. Maybe life would get hard sometimes but the pair of them would get through it. Maybe they argued over stupid things but that didn't mean everything they had amassed was worthless. And maybe Marco’s hands were rough but Jean still liked to hold them.

Jean had crossed the days off the calendar and now he was counting down the hours. He watched as the idiot at the desk in front of him couldn't figure out how to put staples in the stapler.

Jean ate his lunch alone in the small staff café. Food tasted bland but after today it wouldn't. The world would shine bright again.

Was the clock slowing down? Was the universe playing some cruel trick on him? He knew this was how it was going to be, agony until the end. Jean wore his best suit and combed his hair.

Distract yourself, he thought. He thought of gentle kisses at the nape of Marco's neck and the way he said things with his hands. How loving him felt both like ultimate comfort and walking a tight rope. He marvelled at Marco’s sculptured form and admired the way that he always got a response. He could have Jean fuming and pacing or crying. He could touch his foundations and have him questioning everything he knew. He could explain him better than he could explain himself. He always knew what to say when Jean had had a bad day, and what to do if words were no use.

By the end of today he would get to be with Marco again, he would get to kiss his collar bone and rest his head on his shoulder. The world wouldn't get to interfere, overjoyed and alone at last.

Eventually Jean had all his things packed. He stood, briefcase in hand by the door, waiting for the clock to catch up so that he could be the first to clock out. Once he punched his card he was gone. People hurried behind him but he began to run, into the nearest elevator with the doors about to close and down. He was breathless already.

As soon as he doors opened he was out again. He waved his card manically at the security guy that unlocked the door for him and quickly, he made down the street in the opposite direction to the train station. This time he headed for the bus stop. He checked his watch. It was half past 4. The bus should be there in two minutes. He hopped from foot to foot avoiding eye contact with the fellow people at the stop. He was jittery and nervous and his blood wasn't just pumping from the running.

When the bus pulled up on time, he paid and settled himself comfortably in a seat. He tried to hide the grin that was spreading on his face. Was this really happening? Was he really doing this? After all this time?

He tried to calm himself on the bus but he just couldn't. He looked out the window, looked at his watch, looked out the window and then watch again. Should he have gotten flowers? He'd seen people do that before. But the butterflies in his abdomen had him distracted. Consumed with thoughts of Marco. Jean barely even noticed when they began to approach his stop, he stumbled in his rush and almost fell off the bus. And once that would of embarrassed him but right now his mind was otherwise occupied. Nothing else mattered now.

He crossed the street quickly, avoiding traffic, heading for the small local airport. Once he was inside he became frantic. His head whipping every which direction and trying to figure out where he needed to be. Finally he saw a sign and followed it.

He stood nervously. Waiting. He checked his watch again. Almost 5 o'clock. And that's if everything was on schedule.

He checked his phone. Shit, he had a bunch of messages. But just as he went to unlock his phone he could hear the previous murmurs of the crowd around him begin to turn into excited chatter. Something was happening. Jean looked up.

It felt like both slow motion and sped up 100 times. He shifted from foot to foot as he tried to see through the people coming in. People laughing and crying around him.

And then just like that, there he was. When he saw him it was like a blind man seeing the sun. As though he had just found an oasis in the desert.

The tall, freckled familiar man. His dark eyes darted through the crowd. Jean knew he was looking for him but he couldn't call out, he couldn't move. All he could do was let his smile widen, his eyes water and his heart dance.

When their eyes met, it hit a pressure point. The tears began to stream down Jean's face. He could see Marco calling his name, but he couldn't hear a thing.

And with everything he had, Jean lurched forward. He dropped his suitcase and Marco dropped the large duffel he had over his shoulder. Closer and closer, until finally they collided. Their chests hit each other with such impact, but it was nothing. They were light. And their arms came around each other like great mental clamps. Jean clutched at Marcos clothing. Nuzzling his face into his shoulder and smelling his neck.

Jean began to cry more. Please don't let this be a dream. I've had this dream before. Please don't let me find myself waking up. But this wasn't a dream. The arms around Jeans neck and shoulders were very real. Marco was right there, in his uniform, in the flesh. Finally home in Jeans arms.

Jean pulled away to see him. To take it all in again. He had waited so long for this face. The one that photographs could never really capture, the one that even the greatest painters could never really convey.

His wide, wet, brown eyes looked down at Jean. Marco's arms fell to Jean's waist and Jean took Marco's face in his hands. They stared at each other. Boring into each others eyes, a whole year of not being able to do this started now. Whatever was going on around them became distant. Marco leant down to place his lips on Jeans. Gently at first, and finally they both closed their eyes and sank into one another. A kiss of all kisses. Love and lust and hope and absence.

When they finally pulled away they were breathless and their cheeks were wet. They both looked like complete states but the pair of them didn't even notice. They rested their foreheads together, calming themselves.

After a year Jean felt whole. He suddenly felt like he had a hold on life again. And then he realised that it was because he was literally holding his life, his whole world in his arms. The air wasn't so thick and Jean knew that come what may nothing could ever really take Marco from him. That even after a year of longing and worrying it would all be okay. Because all he needed was what he had with Marco and nothing – not people, not distance, not anything – could take that from them. It was theirs and theirs alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by Bastille songs and Taylor Swift's music video to 'Ours' which is the cutest thing ever!!  
> Jean and Marco are my babies! Any feedback is much appreciated, thank you for reading!


End file.
